


Take Me Back In Time

by purplebass



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplebass/pseuds/purplebass
Summary: Cordelia Carstairs is walking by herself when she finds Matthew Fairchild in a dark alley. Matthew opens up to her about his "great sin" from the "Cast Long Shadows" short story.
Relationships: Cordelia Carstairs/Matthew Fairchild
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Take Me Back In Time

_I numb my pain with this liquor  
Turning the page to a sinner_

The afternoon sun was making Cordelia feverish, and as she walked carelessly without a clear destination in mind, she wished she hadn’t worn this dress. It had long sleeves and was made of velvet, and she felt the material stinging her skin, as if the warmth of the sun was seeping into her bones. She thought it was no use: after all, she didn’t intend to walk much, she just wanted to get away for a couple of hours, and she didn’t want company.

Cordelia didn’t like to be alone for long, but there were days where one just wished for loneliness, for alone time, for a moment with their own self. Many things had happened lately, and she still hadn’t realized what it meant for her, nor if she was okay with it.

As Cordelia was about to turn left, she spotted somebody leaning against the brick wall in the furthest corner of the deserted alley. It was a dead end, which meant that he had purposely gone there, where the buildings were so tall and thick and the sun couldn’t have probably shed light on the dark cobblestones if it tried. Despite the gloomy atmosphere, Cordelia could still make out his bright cobalt vest and his dirty blond hair.

“Matthew?”

Matthew was hunched over and was looking at his polished shoes, as if he was in pain. Cordelia got closer and saw perspiration on his cheek, and she believed he might have been bothered by the hot weather as well, but then she saw what was in his hands.

“Matthew, are you alright?” she asked him, putting a hand on his wrist.

Matthew seemed to acknowledge her then, and he glanced at Cordelia with astonishment, his mouth slightly open and his bottom lip trembling. He was groaning. No, it was more like a silent wailing, of the kind you make when you are in pain but you want to keep it secret from other people.

“It’s you,” Matthew murmured, his voice raw and broken. He tried to straighten himself up but failed, and he stumbled. Thanks to Cordelia’s hand on his wrist, he didn’t fall. But, Cordelia thought, he was still drowning in a way or another. He had already fallen. She saw the desperation in his eyes, the cry for help.

She helped him steady himself and realized that it wasn’t sweat that covered his face, but tears. Cordelia didn’t want to intrude, but she concluded that he probably needed somebody to cling on to, in that moment, whatever it was that was making him sad. Noticing the bottle half full in his other hand, she grabbed it and set it on the cobblestones. He didn’t budge, his eyes lost somewhere; definitely not there.

He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were trained on the dark ground, and his hands were shaking. Cordelia still held onto his wrist, but then she moved her hand toward his palm, and squeezed his hand. “I’m here,” she whispered as softly as she could. It sounded like the voice a mother made when she spoke to her child. Sweet and caring, soothing, so that her baby would calm down.

“I don’t deserve your pity, Cordelia,” Matthew said.

“I’m not pitying you,” she answered, confident and resolved. “And I’m offended if you think mine is pity, Matthew.”

He glanced at their hands. She interlocked her fingers with his, and Cordelia saw him heave a sigh at the sight. Then he closed his eyes, and passed a hand on his face. He was flustered, she could tell. She squeezed his hand again, and grabbed it in her other hand to make her point. She wanted to comfort him, and she wanted him to know.

When Matthew gazed back at her with his dark green eyes, new tears had formed and were threatening to fall. He held Cordelia’s stare for longer than before, but then his face turned to an indefinite point at the other side of the ally, avoiding her again.

Cordelia didn’t move. She just stayed there, with his hand in hers, and stared at him, noticing the emotions on his face. The boy was shattered, that was for sure, but she didn’t know if she could mend him again. She wanted to do something, anything, but then Matthew tripped again, perhaps because he had been drinking, and they both fell on the ground.

Hitting the ground startled Matthew, who turned to Cordelia. “Are you okay?” he wondered, his hands palming her face, her shoulders, then her arms, her hands. Falling snapped him out of the stony mood of a few seconds before.

She couldn’t help but smile, touching his forearm to steady herself. She had also fallen on her butt, but whatever. “I’m fine, Matthew. Are you?”

Matthew’s face crumbled again, and the boy shut his eyes and shook his head. And then he broke down. Literally. Tears streamed down his face, staining his cheeks, and fell on her hands. They were as warm as the sun. With a wry smile, Cordelia thought how ironic it was that despite being warm, tears often carried sadness and suffering, not heat. She felt her heart wrench at the sight of Matthew sobbing. Matthew, who always said something inappropriate at the wrong moment and that always found something to be smug about.

Without thinking, Cordelia reached behind his back and pulled him towards her, circling him in an embrace. He didn’t seem to notice at first, but then both of his arms surrounded her has well. He clung tight on her back, and at the same time, he wept quietly.

Cordelia’s hand grabbed the back of his head and brushed his hair gently, with restraint, so very slow and caring. Matthew’s head was on her chest and she could feel the front of her dress getting wet, her skin getting warmer because of the heat. But, unlike earlier, she wasn’t bothered by the material and the fact that it clung to her and stung her. She was lost in that moment and that moment only, her sole goal was to dull his pain, even if for a short while.

At some point, the wails stopped. Cordelia didn’t want to break that moment despite she knew it was getting late and she would have to leave, because she wanted to be sure he was okay.

“It is today,” Matthew murmured after a while.

“What do you mean?”

“Today is…” he started; the shaky voice was back. “It’s been two years.”

Cordelia frowned. “What happened two years ago, Matthew?” She asked, not knowing if he would answer or not.

“Two years ago, I…” he hesitated, as if he didn’t want to continue. But then he said, “I killed her, Cordelia. Two years ago, I killed my sister.” She could feel his hands tighten their grip on her back, but she was still confused.

Matthew had killed his sister?

“But you never had a sister,” she said matter-of-factly. Or at least, when she met James and Lucie in the past, they hadn’t mentioned about this. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be careless,” she added, trying to make him understand that she meant well.

“I should be sorry… to my sister.” Matthew replied bitterly. “Two years ago, I was paranoid. Your… somebody, spread a rumor about my mother. I just wanted to know the truth.”

“What did you do, Matthew?”

“I…” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “I bought a truth potion and used it. But it turned out to be poison. My… it killed my sister. My mother was pregnant with my sister and the poison killed her. And it was…” he broke down for a moment, “it’s my fault, Cordelia. I… I killed my sister. I’m a murderer.”

Cordelia didn’t have the time to reply that Matthew started weeping again. Now she understood. He felt guilty, he felt a killer. And in that moment, her heart broke for him. She kept on brushing his hair and his back. It wasn’t much, but it was still something.

“You’re not a murderer, Matthew,” she said after a while. “You were a boy. You are a boy. And you… You just want to find your place in the world, you want to be loved.”

“I don’t need to love. I need to pay for my sins,” he replied, and Cordelia was sure he was being too hard on himself.

“That’s why you drink so much?”

Matthew stiffened in her arms but he didn’t say anything.

And Cordelia continued, “You are in pain, Matthew Fairchild. And you’re nourishing your pain with liquor.”

“It numbs the pain,” Matthew admitted. “But I still fell everything.”

“Because it’s a temporary solace.”

Matthew raised his head to look at her. “Then what do you suggest?” Their faces were incredibly close, and if one of them would move, their lips would probably touch…

Cordelia’s cheeks warmed up. “Have you spoken to your mother?”

“I… no. I never told this to anyone,” he confessed. “You’re the first person I tell.”

Her mouth opened in disbelief, but it wasn’t shock. She felt happy that he entrusted her with such a painful memory. “Not even James?”

“Especially not James.”

Cordelia furrowed her brows. She realized why Matthew hadn’t told James. He was ashamed of what he had done, he was ashamed to have been so stupid and unwillingly provoked his mother’s miscarriage. She understood Matthew’s point of view: he was afraid that James would judge him. And, in return, that their friendship would end along with their _parabatai_ bond, because he would lose his respect for Matthew. Matthew needed James to survive, and even if he didn’t say it out loud, he cared too much about what he thought of him. He believed the world thought of him as a rude and wretched human being, scandalous, and he was okay with it. But what if James would also change his mind and started seeing him like that too? Matthew would be crushed, Cordelia was sure.

“I don’t think you are a murderer, Matthew,” Cordelia repeated again. “But you also have to believe it, to become true for you as well. And you should stop drinking. Try something else. Oh, I have an idea.”

Matthew frowned, and Cordelia noticed that his eyes were less glassy, but still red-rimmed. She wondered how much time he had been here, in this dark alley, crying his heart out with a bottle of gin in his hand. How long had he been mourning the loss of his sister?

“I’m waiting,” he said expectantly; at least she had managed to distract him.

“Come to me,” she offered, her voice low and sweet. “I mean, when the pain seems too much to handle that you want to drown your sorrows, look for me. Come to my house, ask me out for a walk in the park. Anything.”

“Are you sure?”

Cordelia smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m not a charity case,” Matthew replied.

Cordelia glared at him. “Would you stop thinking about yourself like that? Do you think that I would be with you if I didn’t like you, Matthew? I’m not that fool,” she shrugged.

He managed a smile. “Alright, you gave me your word. But now it’s better if we pick ourselves up from these dirty cobblestones. I fear our clothes are a wreck after our fall.”

It wasn’t lost on Cordelia that he didn’t remark on the fact that she had just blurted out that she liked him. Well, it wasn’t a declaration of love, but still, it felt important to let him know about that. Maybe he would realize there were more people who loved him than he believed.

Matthew offered his hand to Cordelia, and they helped each other stand back on their feet. Then they walked towards the main street, still holding each other’s hand. And, in that moment, Cordelia felt like something had changed in her relationship with Matthew. They were still friends, of course, but somehow, they were more intimate, closer.

She didn’t know what the future would hold, but she wanted to find out.


End file.
